The 13 Hours of Christmas
by SheyrinaLabyrinthianDragon
Summary: Winter is a season of magic. Sometimes things are just what they seem. J/S. Eventual Christmas fluff, because I like fluff. Updated sporadically, but will finish.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Among my poems and songs, I ran into a Labyrinth version of a Christmas carol I had written in '96 or '97. This story began blossoming in my mind shortly after the rediscovery. This is one of the first stories I began writing after nearly two decades. Author notes have been revised as of November 2017.**

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Disclaimer: All things Labyrinth are not mine.

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Snowflakes drifted gently down from a slate grey sky, swirling in feather light whorls behind horse and rider as they passed. Tall pines and stately firs stood sentry along the trail, their evergreen boughs heavy in pristine white cloaks. Despite the dreary looking sky, the forest was filled with a quiet serenity, the muffled silence broken only by the sound of steady hoofbeats and the occasional _whump_ as a tree shed its mantle of snow.

Sarah smiled, turning her face up to the soft flakes falling from the sky, the fur trimmed hood of her cloak sliding back over the dark cascade of her hair as she relished the feel of their frigid kisses on her flushed cheeks. She breathed deeply of the dark, piney scent of the forest, rosy lips parting as she exhaled, her warm breath billowing in a ghostly haze before vanishing into the frosty air. She loved winter. Something about the season filled her with a sense of wonder and delight. Winter, she had decided long ago, was true magic. Shrouding everything in a veil of virginal white, it whispered of hope and promised of new beginnings. Slumbering beneath a glittering blanket of snow, the very land itself dreamed.

Sarah straightened on the back of her horse, drawing her hood up around her face, lost in her musings. For all its frigid, crystalline beauty, winter also harbored its own dark secrets, an underlying edge of cruelty that lay in wait for the unsuspecting. Mercurial by its very nature, the duality of the season was not lost on her. _Take nothing for granted_ , she thought. Magnificent and fierce, alluring and ruthless, the season offered as much as it demanded. Two sides of the same coin. Winter reminded her of _him_.

The gait of her horse shifted, bringing her out of her thoughtful reverie. Somewhere overhead a weak sun had penetrated the pale grey cloud cover, its watery, golden rays slipping over the sleepy forest in a gentle caress. Up ahead, the trees thinned out, signifying an end to her late morning ride. She leaned forward, pressing her knees into the warm flesh of her mount, urging him into a slightly faster pace. She was eager to reach the cabin that lay nestled in the little valley between the mountain and the trees. However, as they topped the small rise past the tree line that signaled the end of the trail, Sarah reigned her mount to a standstill, inhaling sharply.

Backed against the side of the mountain, her diminutive log cabin, flanked by its small woodshed and unpretentious barn, stood in sharp relief against its backdrop of densely wooded pine trees. The snowfall had ceased in the moments after the sun made an appearance, and the new fallen snow that graced the gentle inclines and dips between the cabin and herself gleamed and sparkled. From where she sat on the back of her silver dappled gelding, her little cabin appeared to be wreathed in a golden halo of light, a dazzling display that momentarily blinded her. The scene was breathtaking, and she took a moment to savor the image.

 _Yes, winter is true magic_ , she thought with delight, and suddenly laughed aloud, the sound falling around her in hushed lilts. Her mount stamped a feathered hoof and swiveled his ears in reproach. She patted the horse on his neck, a smile on her lips as she urged him forward.

~*O*~

Sarah led the silver dappled horse alongside the old corral, her cloak swishing around her booted feet as she walked. She stopped briefly to open the barn door wide before leading the gelding inside, then closed it behind them to keep the winter chill at bay. The meager sun slanted through old paned windows, chasing grey shadows up the walls as it illuminated the earthen floor in subdued rays of pale light. Glints of gold winked from a small haystack in the corner of the barn where the barest hint of sun glimmered as it stretched among the shadows. She smiled, a story of a girl who could spin straw into gold tugging at her memory. Sarah shook her head at herself as she tethered the gelding to a ring mounted on the outside of his stall.

In spite of everything, she still loved fairytales. She may have matured in the years since she had wished her little brother away, but the subsequent journey to win him back, and the knowledge that _real_ magic existed would never leave her. She knew that even when she was old and grey, she would still feel the hum of its caress in her heart; would still feel the wonder of dancing in the arms of a magical King; and would always, _always_ , remember the awe-inspiring trepidation she had felt when she first set eyes on the Labyrinth itself. That wasn't to say the King himself didn't inspire a little fear as well, but the truth was, she'd spent many a long night over the years contemplating him. " _Things are not always what they seem in this place_ ," the friendly little worm had told her. She'd often wondered just how far that sentiment extended.

The gelding nickered at her, and Sarah realized she'd been standing still for some moments, lost in her thoughts again. Goodness, this whole day was going to waste away if she kept this up. With an apologetic glance to the horse, she removed her riding cloak and gave it a light shake before hanging it on a nearby peg, fingering the thick material fondly. Trimmed in the soft browns and greys of plush rabbit fur, the dark green outer surface had the slick, fuzzy feel of fine wool while beneath it was lined and insulated in warm fleece. Probably not the most practical thing to wear in the snow, but it was warm, and gave her a sense of impish glee as she relived some of her childhood dreams.

It had been an early Christmas gift from her father and stepmother. She suspected it was, in part, due to their decision to visit Karen's family that Christmas for an impromptu family reunion at her parent's home in Vermont. Karen's three siblings had somehow managed to get the time off, and it was the first time they would all be together with their families since Toby had turned two. Although Sarah had been welcome to go, she found relations with Karen's side of the family to be a bit tedious; more so now that she was no longer a child. She had been honest when she told her family she was quite all right with their decision to go this year, but they seemed to feel a bit distressed at her easy refusal to attend and assumed the fault lay with them.

"Please come, Sarah," a stricken fourteen-year-old Toby had pleaded with her. "I won't know anybody there."

"Oh, Toby, you'll be fine," she'd responded, enveloping him in a warm hug. Although a teenager now, he was still very much a little boy when he was around her, unafraid to drop the brave façade he showed to the world—even his own mother. She loved that he trusted her with his insecurities; it spoke of the deep affection they had developed for each other. "All your cousins will be there, and I know at least two of the boys are around your age."

"But I want _you_ there, Sarah. We always spend Christmas together. Please come…for me?" He had turned those devastatingly blue eyes on her in his best puppy dog impersonation, his blond hair just long enough to give him a slightly rakish appearance. He was already turning heads at school as the soft flesh of boyhood began giving way to the leaner features of adolescence. At present, he hovered on the cusp of both. She'd nearly given in to his endearing display, but then she shook her head, placing a hand on each of his shoulders.

"Remember our story?" she had asked him, and he'd nodded slowly. "Think of this as your first great adventure. It's time you started to face some challenges of your own, too."

"Maybe, but you had goblins and magic," he had grumbled morosely. "Nothing compares to goblins and magic." His petulant tone made her smile. She had always been straightforward and honest with him, and that included sharing with him the folly she'd committed in their past. The only proof she had was a single crystal that had lain in his crib with him when they returned. It would only flicker to life in his hands. Nothing spectacular, just a swirling of shimmering mists that used to keep him calm when he was little.

"Christmas is magic, too, Toby, and just maybe all your little cousins are your goblins-but remember, no matter how irritating they might be, under _no_ circumstances do you wish anyone away," she had admonished him sternly.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," he said, twisting out of her hands, but she'd caught his chin, forcing him to meet her clear, green gaze.

"Words have power, Toby, especially for you and me. We've been touched by another world, and it's not always friendly. Please understand that while this makes us unique, it can also be very dangerous. Always think things through, and don't _ever_ take anything for granted, ok?"

He'd given her a fierce hug. "I love you, Sarah."

She'd returned the embrace with equal fervor. "I love you, too, Tobes, and don't worry, everything will be fine. It's a part of growing up, you'll see. Some challenges we have to face alone, that's just how it's done."

He'd given her a dubious shrug before giving her a halfhearted smile that plainly said he still wished she would go. She'd given him a gentle shove toward his room to pack.

Besides, she'd told herself, there was something about this Christmas that felt different to her. She couldn't explain it, and while she would miss the little traditions she and Toby had developed since he was small, she was more than happy to have the time to herself to think things through. Deciding she must have reached one of those turning points in her life that she often heard older people reminisce over, she had opted to spend the holiday in their parent's mountain retreat. After getting the truck packed, the trailer hitched, and her horse loaded, she'd barely paused a moment in her excitement to be on her way.

She gave the cloak one last, loving stroke and turned to pick up the brushes she used to groom the gelding. She murmured quiet words to him as she began brushing his neck, slowly working her way over his body. Her horse was a bright point in her life. She had taken to horses when a friend in high school had asked her to go riding one day. Having never been near a horse, Sarah reluctantly agreed. To her delight, the freedom she felt on the back of a horse was nothing short of exhilarating, and she spent the summer taking riding lessons from her friend. A few years later, an ad in the paper for a four-year-old shire gelding caught her eye.

"A _draft_ horse, Sarah, _really_?" her friend, Cheyenne, had been anything but excited for her.

"Just wait until you see him, Chey. He's gorgeous and gentle, has the most exquisite manners, and is just positively irresistible. The moment I set eyes on him, I _knew_ he was the one for me." Sarah's voice had dripped with honeyed tones until her friend cringed. Swooning theatrics had accompanied her statement, complete with the back of her hand pressed against her forehead. She had peeked at her friend from the corner of her eye to gauge the effect.

Cheyenne had eyed her with a sour look. "No wonder you've never found a man to catch your fancy. Your standards aren't high, they're just plain unconventional."

Sarah had frowned at her, "What do you mean by that?"

"Meaning, my dear friend, that your tastes tend to be attracted to the extraordinary or unusual, maybe even a hint of the fantastical and exotic, and finely peppered with a sprinkle of compassion and affection for the underdogs. You really are quite eccentric."

A frequent attendee of renaissance festivals and SCA events in her surrounding area, Sarah had never quite let go of her adolescent fantasies. She'd chosen instead to find more creative outlets in which to exercise her amusements. In addition, she was also an active participant in the local theater club, finding particular delight in trying out for parts she felt would suit her natural capabilities. Beyond that, she had taken to sewing and art as favorite pastimes, and when she wasn't creating masterpieces in one form or another, she was riding. Her interests varied far and wide, the subjects of which weren't the kind of interests that most ordinary people considered normal. She indulged her fantasies, but she was practical about them. People were genuinely surprised at just how very down to earth she was. She supposed eccentric was probably putting it lightly.

Still, Sarah pretended to ponder her friend for a moment before replying "Have you met me?" This followed by dipping down in a grand curtsy that was marred by faded blue jeans, boots, and a tattered blue flannel over a black tank top. "Who needs a man anyway? Horses don't judge your interests or try to tell you how you should live your life."

Cheyenne had just shrugged at her before giving her a wry grin. "Sarah Williams, you have to be the most peculiar person I've ever met."

"But you love me anyway," Sarah had quipped. "Now get in the truck. I have a date with destiny."

That had been four years ago. Sarah chuckled to herself, rubbing a soft cloth down the center of the horse's face. Removing the bridle, she hung it up on a peg next to her cloak. The silver gelding stood patiently, watching her with soft brown eyes that seemed to speak of an uncanny intelligence.

"We've never regretted a single moment, have we, Sir Percival?" She murmured to the horse as she ran the cloth down his nose. Percival raised his muzzle, his warm breath fanning over her face before dropping to search her pockets for a treat. She gave him a loving scratch behind the ears, laughing as he became more persistent, the scent of apple-flavored sugar cubes making him bolder as he gently nipped at her jeans.

"Fine, fine, Mr. Impatient. Your manners are decidedly lacking today, but it's Christmas eve, so I'll give you one now, but you won't get another until we're done." She held a small cube in the center of her hand. Percival gently took it from her, his velveteen lips brushing softly against her palm. Patting his cheek, she began brushing the thick white mane that fell in wild tangles to his chest, humming a few Christmas carols to herself as she eventually worked her way to his tail and the feathers on his feet. When she was finished, she stood up and stretched, tossing the brush to the nearby shelf as she stepped back to admire the huge horse. Sensing his grooming session was over, Percival lowered his head and gave his body a light shake. This was followed by looking over his shoulder at her, his thick feathery forelock falling over his eyes as he regarded the woman expectantly. She gave him a faint smile.

"Well, never let it be said that horses don't remember promises, hmm?" The gelding snorted in response as she moved to open the stall door while simultaneously holding out the last sugar cube. He deftly plucked the cube from her palm as he walked through the door. She closed it behind him and then leaned on it, loathe to leave his company just yet.

She was just about to turn and grab her cloak when a ripple of light shimmered brightly through the windows, followed by the soft, resounding echo of a single, musical chime, as if she were hearing it from a great distance. Yet the sound reverberated through her body, as if a gong had been struck at close range, raising goosebumps along her arms and neck as she shivered in response to the sudden flare of warmth that blossomed through her senses like wildfire. Percival stamped his hooves and shook his head, then pricked his ears forward in the direction of the old corral, voicing a low whinny in response to the low, eerie scream of an owl.

Sarah's heart beat in double-time as she stood rooted to the floor. She wasn't sure if she was feeling sudden fear or wild anticipation, and as she gazed toward the sun-kissed windows, she realized that what she saw dancing in the rays of light weren't motes of dust. It was glitter.

Magic was in the air.

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" _The first hour of Christmas, the goblins gave to me…"_

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 _Chapter posted 12/21/16_


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah stood for a long moment, mesmerized by the sparkling motes, before Percival leaned his head over the stall and nudged her hard with his nose, throwing her off-balance. Catching herself on the wall, she gave him a withering glance.

"That wasn't very nice," she groused, still trying to calm the frenzied beating of her heart. The silver gelding ignored her complaint, turning back into his stall with a dismissive snort. She flicked her fingers at him, thinking that sometimes there was more to him than she gave him credit for. Taking a deep breath, she threw the cloak around her shoulders and resolutely stepped out of the barn into the chilly winter air. She turned toward the old corral, the snow crunching beneath her carefully placed feet. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to find there, but what greeted her astonished eyes was nothing remotely close to anything she could have imagined. She tugged the wooden corral gate open, the old hinges protesting with a loud groan.

In the center of the large corral, looking completely out of place was…a peach tree. An impossibly huge peach tree, but a peach tree nonetheless. Bright pink blossoms stood in stark contrast to the winter landscape around it, a blush of color in a brilliant panorama of snow and dark green pine. Approaching the tree slowly, she noted that it sparkled in the sunlight, and as she drew closer, she reached out to touch one of the delicate pink flowers, a shimmer of glitter coating its surface. She rubbed a soft petal between her fingers thoughtfully, a tingle of warmth spreading through her hand from the contact. Passing beneath the outspread branches, she placed a hand on the rough, glistening bark. It was warm to the touch, though that didn't surprise her. She stepped back, hiding her hands in the folds of her cloak for warmth as she looked up through the branches.

She exhaled a frosty breath, turning to lean back against the tree while she tried to puzzle out the meaning of its presence. She took in her surroundings, searching for anything else that might be amiss. Her glance swept from the corral to the tree line across the field. Pale sunlight reflected off the snow-covered ground, a gleaming blanket of white gilded in luminous gold, crowned by a vaporous haze that rose in lazy tendrils to the warming sun. The clouds had broken into a patchwork of nebulous wisps, revealing more of a deep azure sky. Only the trail of hoofprints, joined later by her own footprints, marred the peaceful setting in hues of periwinkle and violet.

Sarah looked once more to the peach tree. If it wasn't so completely tangible, she was certain she would think she was dreaming. There was no denying _who_ had sent it there; peach trees didn't magically appear in full blossom in the middle of winter of their own volition—even enchanted ones. And, well, peaches were sort of a calling card of his in her experience.

"Just what _are_ you up to?" she asked quietly into the crisp, cool air.

For a moment, only the sweet scent of peach blossoms on a lightly stirring breeze answered her. She breathed in the scent, closing her eyes as long ago memories began to wash over her, the faint touch of magic warming her and filling her with quiet longing. It was then that she heard a soft clinking sound coming from overhead. She opened her eyes and looked above her, the glint of a crystal bouncing down through the branches toward her made her breath catch. She reached out as it dropped clear of the branches, the movement reflexive. Realizing in the same instant just what she had caught, her frozen fingers nearly dropped it. She stilled herself with a shaky laugh, cradling the crystal nervously in her palms.

Before she could gather her scattered thoughts enough to contemplate what she was supposed to do with it, the crystal shimmered and burst. A small, folded piece of cream colored parchment lay in her hands. Unfolding it with trembling fingers, she read the lines of elegant script scrawled across the surface:

 _It's a gift, nothing more. You're a clever girl, Sarah,  
I'm quite certain you will figure it out._

She pursed her lips. Well, that wasn't very enlightening.

She pushed away from the tree, stalking away from the bizarre spectacle behind her. She needed to warm up. As she closed the corral gate behind her, she glanced once more at the peach tree. In the topmost branches, nearly obscured by an array of pink blossoms, a barn owl was staring at her with its unblinking, ebony gaze. She shivered.

~*O*~

Flames licked hungrily at the dry logs in the fireplace, crackling and popping in a merry dance of orange and yellow sparks. Sarah sat before the leaping blaze, letting the heat wash over her in blissful comfort. She held a warming mug of wassail to her lips, sipping the fragrant mélange of cinnamon, cloves, and mulled cider gingerly. The bloom of citrus bathed her palate in the aftermath of spices as she swallowed, reveling in the way the heat spread languidly through her core. She laced her fingers around the mug, leaning back against the little couch that sat near the hearth. She tried to calm her mind but the image of the owl sitting in the peach tree taunted her thoughts. She sighed, her eyes flicking to the folded parchment on the side table next to her.

A gift, he'd said. She pondered the best way to approach the meaning of his offering. A whirling tempest of thoughts tried to crowd her mind, but she forced herself to consider only those with any merit. She thought of her time in the Labyrinth, focusing not on her journey, but of the symbolisms that she hadn't realized were present until much later. That, she thought, might be her first clue. She sipped at her mug, sifting through the defining elements of the event that might form a cohesive rationale. She could only come up with three.

First, it was Christmas Eve. A time of year that, traditionally, symbolized magic in the element of generosity, usually demonstrated in the bestowing of a gift. Well, that fit, in more ways than one. By his own words, he'd given her a gift and, by doing so, exhibited his generosity—again. And of all things, a peach tree. Remembering the ballroom, she supposed it fit his tendency toward extravagance on some bizarre, twisted level.

Then there was the tree itself. It was obviously enchanted, and appeared to be protecting itself from the chill by exuding an innate warmth. Several thoughts came to her regarding the tree, until she remembered that a peach tree, in and of itself, held its own symbolism in the guises of love, happiness, and immortality. That thought just made her question his motives, despite the thrill that sang in her blood at the thought. She squashed it ruthlessly.

Then there was the symbolism of the barn owl. That one gave her pause. While she knew the owl was him, she wasn't sure if she should discount the meaning of his presence in the form or not. She struggled with this, but the more she thought about the image of him sitting there, she decided it wouldn't hurt to explore that possibility, either. She couldn't recall him doing anything without purpose. So, then, barn owls…

The basic symbolism of owls was twofold with many nuances in their ranges of depth; they were either harbingers of doom or purveyors of wisdom and intuition. She doubted his presence was meant to be sinister in light of the first two elements, which left her with a significance no less meaningful. Barn owls symbolized guidance and having the courage to face internal conflict or fears of the unknown.

Sarah frowned, draining her mug and placing it on the side table. Perhaps she was reading too much into this. She leaned her head back against the couch cushions, closing her eyes as the image of the owl in the peach tree floated to the forefront of her mind. A sudden flash of insight and a far less ominous and altogether bizarre thought occurred to her. It was the season of magic, it was Christmas Eve…

Could it be so simple? Surely, not.

But if it were so, then it should almost be time…

She glanced at the antique clock on the mantle. The delicate, filigreed hands were moments away from striking the hour. As the second hand approached the twelve, bringing the long hand with it in the final seconds, she held her breath. The gentle chime pealed out, echoed by the deeper, resonating tones of the chime she first heard in the barn. Once, then twice, and all was quiet save for the crackling of the fire. She let her breath out slowly, her supposition gaining credence.

The second hour had come.

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"… _a great big, glittery peach tree."_

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 **A/N: Just a fun little side note. In naming Percival, I specifically looked up names of knights. I discarded several before settling on Percival, mainly because it fit the image of the horse I had in my mind. Today, I decided to watch "Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy" with David Bowie and Bing Crosby from the intro skit before the song. Imagine my delight when I heard David tell Bing that Sir Percival lets him use the piano. I've watched this many times over the years…I wonder if there was something there subconsciously? In any case, it gave me a fun little thrill.**

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 _Chapter posted 12/23/16_


	3. Chapter 3

***Looks left, then right. Approaches story cautiously and blows away the dust. Sets down new chapter. Runs.***

 **A/N: Wow, November already? And it's almost come and gone… Guess that means it's time to move this story along a bit. Don't hate me because it's not December yet. It's a miracle I managed this chapter, and I like visiting c** **lichés. *lol*  
**

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Well, if things were going to continue in this manner, and she was fairly certain they were if the second chime was anything to go by, she should probably dress into some warmer layers. She couldn't help the wave of curiosity as she tugged her jeans over the leggings she had put on. Changing into a heavier sweater and a fresh pair of thick woolen socks, she slipped on her boots, then rummaged through a dresser drawer for the new pair of fleece-lined leather riding gloves she had bought on the way up. Her search also turned up an old pocket watch hidden in a corner of the drawer, its brass casing tarnished with the dull patina of age. She wound it up gently, frowning when it remained silent. She gave it several light taps on the glass surface, a small smile gracing her lips as it began to softly tick in the silence. Moving toward the living room, she paused in front of the oval cheval mirror that stood in the corner nearest to the bedroom door. Running her fingers through her dark, silky tresses, she tilted her head at her reflection, her expression one of thoughtful consideration.

What she saw was not the woman she had become. Instead, she saw the girl she had been at fifteen. A head full of dreams and a heart full of anguish, she'd rebelled at the unfairness of her life, determined to live in the magic that shimmered at the edges of her awareness. Only when she lost herself in the fantasy could she almost touch it. It was still that way, in some respects, with the exception that now she had validation. She had lived it and lost it, but that didn't keep her from looking for it. She'd accepted her fate, would do it again if she had to. Back then it had been easy. Her youth and innocence had blinded her, the completion of her quest to save her brother from her own misdeed had been the driving force of her entire ordeal, her sole focus. The dawning realization of what she would miss hadn't come until the very end, when the crystal he'd thrown into the air floated down into her hand and burst. It was then she finally understood—too late. The words were spoken.

 _What's said is said._

She ran her fingers across the cool, reflective surface of the mirror. That girl was long gone.

Sarah turned away, attempting to shake off the unusual mood of introspection plaguing her, but it persisted. Of course, when she had arrived at the little mountain cabin, her intention had been to think about the course of her life so far. It was well past time she gave serious thought to her future, but she could never shake the feeling that there should have been something more in her life by now. In her heart, she knew what she'd been waiting for—hoping for—but as the years pressed on, that hope faded a little more. If she was completely honest with herself, she'd been waiting for some sort of closure so she could move on. She'd expected that this was the year she would lay to rest her dreams of somehow finding her way back, to finding out the truth in that final confrontation. She'd held on for far too long, letting it color her relationships and the pattern of her life. Cheyenne hadn't known how close to the truth her words were.

She passed through the living room until she stood in front of the mantle, synchronizing the hands of the timepiece to the clock, then bent down to bank the fire. Turning around, she skimmed the small cabin with a thoughtful glance. She hadn't decorated much. She didn't see the point if she was only spending a handful of days over the holiday alone, but she wasn't a scrooge by any long stretch of the imagination, either. A few candles and sprays of evergreen dressed in scented pinecones and gaily colored bows sat upon tables and lined the mantle. Garlands of fresh pine intertwined with artfully tailed ribbons adorned windows and doorways in fanciful sweeps. Paper stars done in intricate folds and painted in metallic sheens hung from twine against windows, and nestled in the evergreens, sprigs of bright red holly berries peeking out from their cozy niches. She found comfort in the modesty of the décor, something decidedly medieval about it, a kind of idyllic simplicity. Maybe she should take Percival out later and look for a small tree. It was more than she'd planned on doing, and she would have to take it all down in a day or two, but she would need something to do while she waited out this strange turn of events.

~*O*~

Sarah soon found herself approaching the corral. There was no sign of the owl and for that she felt a sharp pang of disappointment. Nearly thirteen years of hoping magic would once again touch her life and she was filled with an overwhelming sense of elation that it had, but…perhaps it was for the best that he was not present. There were too many questions clamoring for her attention, and she needed time to sort through them. There was the chance that if she saw him now, she might risk asking the wrong questions, and she somehow felt the answers were going to be important.

With a deep breath, she cautiously advanced toward the tree, her green eyes alert for any change. The tree itself remained the same, its vibrant blossoms exuding a peaceful radiance that served only to intensify its otherworldliness. She passed beneath the branches once more, feeling an aura of quiet serenity engulf her in its warming embrace, quieting the odd mix of emotions battling within her. She walked a slow circle around the tree before a flicker of movement drew her attention to one of the long, glittering branches near her head. Clothed in gauzy veils of creamy lavender, pale skin luminous against the silver locks that fell in delicate waves around their shoulders, two fairies sat on their knees, watching her curiously.

"Well, hello there," she greeted them softly.

The fairies leaned forward, chittering to each other for a moment before taking flight on gossamer wings. Sarah remained still, following them with her eyes as they flew in lazy spirals around her. She made no move to reach out to them, remembering her previous experience all too well. They might be lovely to look at, but she'd learned fairies could be vicious little creatures, not at all what she had expected. That was the second lesson she'd learned from her journey.

She smiled slightly as one fluttered in front of her, tiny violet eyes meeting hers with a shrewd expression. The little creature chittered something to her companion, sounding strangely like a question. Sarah was suddenly treated to a diverting display of fairy aggression as the second fairy very nearly pounced on the first, her tiny voice almost squeaking with the strength of her reprimand. The first fairy had the grace to look a little shamefaced, causing Sarah to wonder what could have brought on such a forceful scolding.

"Hey, now," Sarah raised her hands entreatingly, thankful she'd had the foresight to remember her gloves. "There's no need to be so unpleasant to each other."

The fairies regarded her in surprise, and she wondered if anyone had ever actually spoken to them before. Was it possible they could be more than the pests Hoggle had so conclusively declared them? They certainly appeared to have a level of intelligence she hadn't previously been aware of, but then, she hadn't had all that much time to consider them in her previous encounter. She'd needed to get into the Labyrinth.

The first fairy made as if to alight on one her upheld hands, but her companion suddenly swooped down and tugged on her wing, chittering urgently. Sarah regarded their actions with a hint of apprehension as they flew to her sides and looked behind her. Slowly, she turned, a thrill of nervous excitement coursing through her. This feeling she remembered, and her eyes widened in wonder as the landscape shimmered and shifted before her.

She was standing on a hill—no, she was standing _the_ hill—the glittering peach tree in regal display where the deadwood that previously occupied the space had once subsisted. Even so, beneath its sparkling layer of snow, it was hard to mistake her location. Spread before her, the twisting stone walls glinting in a majestic array of icy splendor, sprawled the Labyrinth, and beyond, the towering spires of a castle she remembered all too well in her memory. She gazed at the scene, enraptured by the sight of a magical land caught in the dreams of a wintry spell.

"Hmm, Alice in a Winter Wonderland. Now there's an idea with some merit," she said to the fairies who were now resting on her shoulders, "though, I daresay, you two are a much prettier sight than Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

"Doubtful that they are as bright," came the amused response, spoken from just behind her.

Sarah jumped, startled by the familiar voice and the odd sense of _déjà vu_ the action brought. The two little fairies squeaked in alarm and dove into the thick folds of her cloak. Collecting herself, her expression carefully neutral, she turned to face the one being she hadn't dared hope to see again since that fateful night so long ago. He stood a few feet away from her, but she didn't miss the gleam of laughter in his eyes.

"That isn't a very nice thing to say," she replied.

"Perhaps, but then you are not at all familiar with the havoc they wreak on my kingdom." He tilted his head as he regarded her. "Hello, Sarah."

She graced him with a mock curtsy. "Your Majesty, if that is, indeed, the correct form of address for one such as yourself."

A brief, indulgent smile pulled at one side of his lips. "Goblin _King_ would imply a certain level of distinction."

"True," she allowed, her expression turning thoughtful. "I suppose even a goblin monarchy has its entitlements."

He now seemed genuinely amused by her response. "I assure you, dear girl, it is a position with _all_ the requisite privileges."

"Is it, now?" she mused, her attention turning to his appearance as he began to walk slowly around her.

He hadn't changed, he certainly hadn't aged, but she supposed that was to be expected. His pale blond hair was still as wild as ever, reminding her of the magnificent mane on a great golden lion as it framed the elegant lines of his face in feather light wisps before falling to his shoulders. It was difficult to tell what he was wearing beneath the thick, fur-lined coat that draped over his shoulders and hugged his form, but judging by the legs of the sleek grey trousers that seemed to pour into his tall, knee high boots, she doubted very much that his style of dress had changed much more than was necessary to suit the weather. Their previous encounters showed him to be somewhat vainglorious when it came to his clothing. He paused in front of her, his mouth quirked in amusement as she raised her eyes back to his face, arching an elegant brow when she finally met his distinctive gaze.

"I see the span of mortal years since our last meeting have been…kind...to you," he murmured, tilting his head as he regarded her in much the same fashion, but she _knew_ she had changed, and it showed in the way his eyes swept over her. Ignoring the warming tingle in the pit of her stomach, she returned his dramatic appraisal with a raised brow of her own, refusing to give in to the flush of warmth that was threatening to overwhelm her. She certainly wasn't going to give him _that_ satisfaction, and she lifted her chin slightly, a not-quite-subtle challenge. "No fear, Sarah?"

"Should there be?" she countered. She didn't miss his slight smile at her answer. She turned toward the breathtaking view of the Labyrinth before she added, "I was never truly afraid of you for myself, you know. Only what you could do to those I cared for if I failed, and I didn't 'wish' to come here…" she paused, then turned back to look at him. "Actually, why _am_ I here?"

"Hmm, why indeed." Not a question, more of an enigmatic statement. She crossed her arms, waiting. He made a gesture to his left and a familiar clock shimmered into existence. Her dismay must have been written in her expression because he chuckled. Stepping close to her, he leaned forward. "I thought you were a clever girl, Sarah. Haven't you already figured out this game?"

Unfazed, she held his gaze. "Part of it, perhaps, but I'm not so naïve as to think I've figured out the whole of anything where _you_ are concerned," she responded, a touch too sharply.

"Ah, not an unwise consideration, to be… _fair_ ," he tilted his head to the side, his now passive expression betrayed by the gleam of amusement in eyes.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him. Was he really going to throw the tantrums of her fifteen-year-old self in her face?

"Clearly," she replied, uncrossing her arms. "But if you expect me to do this venture once more, and with no clear goal, I'm not going without my horse."

"You've been here less than a quarter of an hour and making demands already? My, my, your expectations of me never cease."

"Nor do yours, but since it was not _I_ who set this turn of events in motion, I think I'm allowed a small concession, don't you?" Sarah clasped her hands in front of her, giving him all the theatrics of a sweet smile and implied innocence, earning her little more than a sardonic tilt of a brow. Rolling her eyes, she dropped the façade, shrugging, the little fairies on her shoulders squeaking their disgruntlement. "Call it a gift, if you wish. You seem to be rather fond of your generosity."

He gave her a wolfish grin, the irregular points of his teeth baring briefly. "Say my name, Sarah, and I shall grant your 'request.'"

~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~

" _The second hour of Christmas, the goblins gave to me…_

 _Two little fairies,_

 _And a great big, glittery peach tree."_

~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~*O*~

* * *

 _Chapter posted 11/26/17_


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